Five minutes into the morning
by J.Dax
Summary: In only a few minutes Jack can go from upset to shouting. What he shouts is what he needs. And you may or may not be surprised at what General Jack O'Neill needs. A bit of fluff but otherwise just some light reading. New chap. Spring rings.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Right, don't own it. Yes, I know it's hard believe-(Shut up Selmac)-but I do not own Stargate.

A/N: Just a little something I wrote because they wouldn't let me have pie.

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General O'Neill exited the elevator and was instantly greeted by the din of exclamation that his ears had somewhat become adjusted to in the past month or so that he had held his position as base commander of the SGC.

Davis was chattering away, with a notably irritated note in his voice that had been there ever since he had be reassigned as the General's official assistant when the man who was supposed to replace him had turned out to be just an evaluator for the President and not a permanent anchorage.

Well, right now Walter's frustrations were not Jack's concern. He had a few hundred…make that _million, _of his own, and they started with one thing…coffee withdrawal.

That made him upset, because it gave Daniel license to pester him after all those years of his own banter towards the Archeologist's addiction to the strong black liquid. Now he was the one that would go postal if he didn't have at least five cups of the stuff before people began to descend from invisible recesses, (turns out there were a lot of those on base, never when you needed them to protect the world from pending destruction though.) their powers of cloaking any human being until they were right in front of you could only be exploited for the purpose of making his life more miserable.

A hot thermos was placed in his hand as he walked towards his office and Davis continued raving on about how their scientists wanted to use alien organs to build a Frankenstein. Or was that last week?

He didn't bother to thank whatever nervous Airman had thrust into his palm the delicious drink. No doubt with the way his mornings were, the person would already be gone and he'd look like he was talking to air for no particular reason. Then Walter would give him that unsurprised yet disappointed look as if to say, 'I-always-knew-you-would-crack-but-does-it-have-to-be-now-because-this-meeting's-more-important-than-your-evident-lunasy?'

Jack quickly guzzled the drink before it was taken away from him by another one of his imaginary assistants.

He tried to wait patiently for the caffeine to take effect, but between the information Davis was spewing in his right ear and the demands some civilian technician was making in his left, inevitably trapping both men's words in his brain because it couldn't get out either side and therefore continue his normally steady flow of ignorance, was causing him a massive headache.

He had no tolerance for this habitual routine at the moment and no amount of coffee seemed do be helping.

His infamous boiling point was approaching and it hadn't even been five minutes into hid day underground.

Had anyone of the eclectic group of people currently surrounding him and talking all that the same time while shoving paperwork into his hands had known this, they would have probably made a quick bargain with fate and hightailed away from him.

What a lovely thought. Peace…hmmm, that word was suppose to mean something…he'd ask Daniel the translation later.

As it was though, the noises around him were increasing to a tedious level, as even more personnel joined the band marching in the direction of his office, adding to the collective bunch that was vying for his attention.

"Sir, I need you to authorize this command…"

"General, you have a briefing with SG-12 in fifteen minutes, some negotiations to oversee between the Tokra and the Pangarans, a debriefing with SG-4…"

"O'Neill, don't listen to Lt. Bradley when he requests a transfer, he's just pissed because Wiley dumped her alien concoction down his pants…"

"General O'Neill, my fellow Russian teammates and I would wish to speak with you on a matter that is of concern between our respective governments…"

"…a meeting with the President and General Hammond to discuss some more long term plans for Home World security, the memo's on your desk, they need input on all of the SGC's ongoing contracts…"

"I doubt you are aware of this, Sir, but SG-15 brought back an unauthorized…"

"…That is to say, the reports were valid, but the Pentagon requests a more stable filling procedure…"

"Area 51 isn't happy with the new time arrangements between how long we get to keep Alien devices before handing them…"

Jack had remembered saying something a life time ago, when he was Colonel and the galaxy was a much happier, gun-slinging, planet hopping, ass kicking, Ba'al torturing, Asguard bantering, C-4 exploding, naquada gathering, battle readying, Goa'uld blasting, tachnobabbling, recon boring, place.

Where was he again? Oh yes, saying something…it was about a list…all the ways he was going to get back at the suits and ties of The Powers That Be.

His list was longer now.

He'd have to stand on Alaris and roll it through the gate to the representatives on the other side just so they could begin reading it. He'd have to ask Carter if that would work.

Speaking of which, he was getting very angry at the moment and there was currently no Lt. Col. Samantha Carter around to play buffer.

There was one thing he was mad about. Not only was it not even eight a.m. and already half the base had been jabbering away at him for what seemed like forever because someone had secretly relocated his office on the other side of eternity while he'd caught up on the only hour of sleep he'd managed to steal in over a month, but he hadn't seen Carter or any other member of SG-1 in nearly a week.

"Hey, General"

That tone…

Jack turned.

Kerry Johnson.

Remember to smile…

That's good…

Not going to save you buddy.

He'd stood her up last night. Accidentally. There was a crisis…a serious one…one that required his utmost attention…

Okay, so he hadn't made it because SG-1 hadn't gotten back from their mission yet…and he had…needed to debrief them?

Actually, he could've left that aspect of his job till tomorrow, it was a simple recon mission, but he hadn't seen Carter--his team! Hadn't seen his _team_, in a while.

Activity did not cease around him though as he stopped in the hallway and was labeled with a: 'I-am-going-to-kill-you-and-laugh-about-it', glare from his girlfriend that would have put Janet Frasier on edge.

Well, not quite, but it was close to that degree.

Much like the glare he'd like to give a certain Pete Shanahan should the opportunity ever present itself…was it just his imagination or did the glare intensify?

"Um…Hey, honey?" he tried to say without shouting to be heard over the noise still bellowing around him.

He frantically searched for his thermos of coffee under the pretense that by drinking it the substance could somehow make the universe disappear, but all he found was that his precious drink of the Gods had somehow been replaced by stacks of files, folders, and endless paperwork currently bogging down his arms.

"Do you know how many times that is now, Jonathan O'Neill?!"

Not the full name.

Now her rant had joined that of the entire crowd pressing against him and sweeping him along the corridor towards that office that had moved somewhere much farther from where it was supposed to be.

Any second now…

"…And we can't forget that the cafeteria shipment was wrong…"

"Just sign this and put it in your outbox…"

Control, must have control…

"…Two hours! I waited two hours at that damn restaurant…"

"My theory on the device that SG-16 brought back, is that it contains some force of…"

"…meeting with the Asguard high council, briefing with SG-9…"

Breathing. Breathing fine.

"I don't think I can stress how much the Russian's desire to establish common ground with…"

"O'Neill, are you listening to me? Under no circumstances can you transfer him…"

Getting difficult. Verging on impossible. Just want two seconds of quiet.

"…You need to relay this…"

Did he just say, _need, _something? _NEED?! _

Jack exploded.

Yes, as in, NEED nine straight hours of undisturbed sleep, NEED a calm place to unwind, NEED retirement, NEED everyone in the universe to sit back for an hour and kel'nor'reem, NEED a talk with Hammond about how much crap one person should put up with, NEED some miraculous cure to stress that doesn't require downtime because he couldn't afford that…

In other words…

"What I NEED, Davis, is CARTER!!!"

Oh look.

There's where they put his office.

And the door's open.

And there's someone sitting at his desk. Someone with two other someones…there's three very familiar someones sitting at his desk…and one of them is staring at him with her jaw a bit unhinged…

And there's another, reasonably homicidal, someone standing next to him…

Boy, Kerry sure is using that glare a lot these days…

Well, at least this is the most quiet he's gotten all month.


	2. Sam's morning up to five minute ago

(A/N: Thanks a lot for the reviews, I wasn't going to post another chapter to this, but I had some requests for it so why not? I hope you all enjoy it.)

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Colonel Samantha Carter was bombarded with the day's trying agenda as soon as she woke up only to find herself in her lab hunched over her keyboard with an urgent technician talking at speeds that she was certain were anatomically impossible, and she was sure it was probably due to one of the many alien devices scattered around her lab that she hadn't yet been able to decipher.

Glancing at her watch she noticed she had merely been able to grab a ten-minute nap and soon her bleary mind that had been running on a simple hour of sleep the entire month since she'd been promoted was protesting her physical efforts to stand and begin walking.

She had pulled yet another all-nighter…it was completely necessary with her current workload…at least that's the excuse she would be giving the General.

She did her best to listen intently to the many scientists and technical advisors that were crowded around her and arguing amongst themselves in a monotonous chorus that she was bitterly accustomed to, about certain priorities on projects and which theories could and could not be tested.

What the majority of the white-coated men and women bustling in orbit around her did not realize is that with her new rank had come new responsibilities. Now she had to attend more meetings about strategically military conscious advancements on their enemies while in the field, more briefings for green pilots about the latest spacecraft they'd managed to whip up, assist the SGC's elite team of engineers (although most often it was more like they were assisting her) with the most recent improvements on their weaponry and other such gadgets…etcetera.

She could no longer focus the largest amount of her working shift into roaming the labs and fixing or aiding or otherwise taking complete command on whatever problem—_project, _whatever project they had managed to web themselves into.

"Colonel, the nuclei energy containment field is not responding well to the pressure intake of…"

"Oh, Miss Carter, glad I caught you, you're going to have to run a diagnostic on the mineral samples brought back from…"

"Samantha, there is no way we can put this off much longer, Area 51 is clamoring for the entity to be shipped to their faculty in less than…"

"Ma'am, you have a lecture to give the new recruits on handling the X-302…"

She was truthfully meaning to take an interest in what everyone was saying…seriously, she really was making an effort…but you try combining the very minimal length of sleep the human body was capable of while still managing to function and throw in a sizeable portion of frenzied scientists and low ranking Airmen blithering in your presence for all different reasons and see how well you fair.

Sam needed a slight escape from this particular morning ritual, so she eyed the hallway they were hurrying down and tried to understand the most suitable means of retreat.

There…

Daniel's office…

Door slightly ajar…

Target located…

Fire!

Sharp and quick, using every tactical advantage she had ever learned when faced with a hostile enemy, (oh yes, a mix of insatiable scientists and overly nice Airmen at almost eight a.m. definitely constituted the title of Hostile Enemy) and easily she snuck out of her audience and into the private asylum of her friend's workspace.

Shutting the door behind her she listened as the catastrophic humming of the militia/civilian hive tapered off into the distance, probably not even noticing she was no longer among them.

Daniel looked up at her without much disturbance in his expression.

Sometimes she thought it might be wise to analyze the man for precognitive abilities.

She ungracefully flopped into a chair and acknowledged Teal'c's presence in the room just before shutting her eyes and slouching down in her seat for a well deserved rest.

But the moment she began tricking herself into believing she might actually receive some form of relaxation, Daniel's all too calming voice broke into her peaceful cloud to announce, "We have a team meeting with Jack today, we should get going"

"Indeed" Teal'c added, and she swore his tone conveyed the barest indication of amusement.

At that moment she had the incredible urge to pull a Jack O'Neill and utter something along the lines of 'Bite-me'.

This thought was unfortunately a bit too unsettling and she was roused from her comatose state with hints of reluctance before she could mutter a very uncharacteristic suggestion.

She stood…

Glared.

Glared some more…

Turned.

Began to walk…

And thankfully, with little interruption, SG-1 was able to enter Jack's office unscathed by any fleeting contact with that group of hostile enemies she loathed more than the Trust.

Daniel gave her his concerned glance when she repeated in Jack's office what she had done in his a few moments earlier upon their arrival. Only this time she leaned against his desk facing the open entryway, waiting impatiently for her CO.

Less than five minutes passed and the sound of buzzing voices could be heard approaching the base commander's office.

And then something very uncalled for and unexpected happened.

Walter said something to Jack.

Jack stopped dead less than a yard away from his designated office.

Kerry Johnson's eyes grew wide.

Sam's jaw dropped.

Jack's word rang in the now silent hallway.

"What I NEED, Davis, is CARTER!!!"

At the very same instant, Sam convinced herself desperately that she was still asleep in her lab…very much asleep…very much cooking up this impossible scenario with her own subconscious.

Jack did not seem too upset at what he had just confessed. But Kerry Johnson was armed with one hell of an expression.

Sam thought she must be so low on sleep she was having odd hallucinations. That's it…think rational…there's a very well laid out formula for this kind of mental deception…there is an equation floating on some genius' hard drive somewhere in the known galaxy that explains in absolute precision the reason for the behavior from your commanding officer you have just witnessed…

Yet still her mouth was gaping…

Okay…if a scientific mentality will not erase this situation, than a military approach might be best…something very regulated…and above all rational…_very, very, very, _rational…

"Um…what did you need me for, sir?" of course! It was probably a report that was due; a diplomatic input into some off-world negotiations, a quick update on her team's efficiency…anything.

"Nothing, Carter" he said a bit too gently as he gave her an intense gaze that had all the qualities of an engulfing inferno.

As if an Asguard beam had suddenly overtaken them, the group of zealous officers and assistance quickly fled from view as though never having been there.

And Kerry Johnson disappeared along with them…after cursing like a Goa'uld of course.

Jack seemed rather pleased with the result of his out burst and strolled into his office looking just peachy.

She envied him his resolve.


	3. Walter's morning after five minutes ago

(A/N: I wasn't going to add this. I'm not exactly sure where to go with this fic because I intended it to be just a one chapter "rainy-day-reading" kind of thing, but you all seem to like it so I guess I'll just see what happens)

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Walter Davis was in an exceptional mood today, his attitude having been considerably leveled thanks to an eccentric commander who tended to have little control over his oral functions.

If his superiors had thoughtthat the base had been loud this morning then it was absolutely deafening now, and not because everyone had decided to become particularly efficient about their respective duties; at the moment, work was the furthest thing on anyone's mind.

Walter went about his tasks almost indolently, too intent on the whispers and conversations that were carelessly fluttering around him.

After having got General O'Neill settled in for the coming shift, Davis was pretty much free to devote his time to fueling the long ago dead base gossip that had been reborn in the wake of their beloved commanding officer's outburst just before SG-1's team meeting.

It had been ages since any of the Cheyenne Mountain's personnel hadbeen even barely compelled to participate in meaningless rumors and laughable second hand stories that were just too outrageous to believe but too good not to pass on.

It had begun to get too serious around here ever since General George Hammond's transfer to the Pentagon. True to Murphy's Law, things kind of dipped from there, and though the men and women of the SGC had experienced some shaky ground before, it had been nothing compared to the intense stoicism that had followed the events after Hammond's leaving.

But Jack O'Neill had all but ordered away that perfect streak of depression.

And it felt so good to hear the old conversations that had next to nothing to do with what they were really supposed to be working on.

"I heard Kerry Johnson got so jealous she threatened Colonel Carter with a P-90…"

"We all knew it was going to happen sooner or latter. I mean, the guy's irresistible enough, but add the rank of General and you've got yourself a naquada bomb waiting to happen…"

"Four years! He confessed his feelings for her four _years _ago!"

"God, it must have been torture keeping the whole love affair a secret. I hear they almost got caught by Hammond making out in Doctor Jackson's office…"

"I hear it's really Teal'c she's in love with and they've been half way to married for a millennia but O'Neill can't seem to get over his morbid infatuation with her…"

"Of the three drop dead gorgeous guys she had to choose from, she picks the one she can't have? I'm not buying it. I mean, Daniel Jackson's so hot he actually _did _drop dead…"

"What did he say to her again? Something about arm wrestling?"

"He practically shouted 'Will-you-marry-me!'. I swear, the words were nearly out his mouth until Kerry stormed in yelling in Ancient…"

Walter grinned into his coffee and relished the atmosphere. Some days it was good to be the first hand assistant to The Man. Some days you got to start wild fire, out of proportion, tall tales that set everyone humming and determined your attention quota for the week.

He had always missed out on the major moments of the Jack O'Neill/Samantha Carter dynamic: when he used to ask her up to his cabin for a heated lovers weekend (code for: fishing trip on downtime).

When she drove herself to the edge of psychotic trying to bring him home only to be rejected for some alien temptress that had drugged him into sleeping with her (code for: she built the machine that brought him back from the planet he spent three months stranded on).

Being forced to confess their undying love for each other under pressure from their jealous Tokra counterparts who tried to seduce them both into lying on their lie detection machine because they didn't want to hear the truth of their shared affection (code for: admitting they care for each other under a Zay'tarc detector or otherwise face stasis and death).

The incidents continued long afterwards, and always the stories that had preceded them had been experienced and then distorted by someone else. But now he was in the thick of it, and in the perfect position to compensate for the inevitable imagination of the hopeless romantics that made up the larger amount of his coworkers.

"Hey, Davis, tell Lisa that the General is _not _retiring just because he's afraid Sam will marry Pete before he can reveal to her that her fiancé is a Jaffa"

Grin. Wide grin. This was too fun.

Walter turned in his seat to face the man who'd asked the question.

Rick Twell, a civilian biologist and friend of Colonel Carter, a man from the beginning who was sure to dampen everybody's fun by insisting that the Colonel would never risk her job for such an endeavor as to pursue her CO.

They all knew that. There was not a person on the entire base who didn't hold the utmost respect and certainty for the General and his 21C. But the concept of hilarity seemed to be out of Twell's emotional radar.

So Walter glanced at Captain Lisa Briggs and gave her a smile that was fringed with conspiracy.

"Of course Shanahan's not a Jaffa, Captain. The Colonel would know if he was. The General is retiring because he's afraid he wont have time to convince Carter she's really engaged to a member of the Trust who only wants to use her to gain easy access to top secret information" his tone was loaded with awe inspiring secrecy.

Captain Briggs was too busy being dumbstruck by the entire scenario to realize the enormous cliché behind his explanation, "Oh, I _HAVE _to tell Nurse Peterson, this is better than who shot J. R.!"

With that she promptly left.

Rick sighed and rolled his eyes at Walter who was much too pleased with himself to care. Soon the infirmary would be infected with the gossip virus, and next would certainly be the science labs...and to think just that morning he had actually considered being upset with job.

Walter returned to his strenuous task of pretending to work and tuned back in to the soothing sound of endless murmurings flooding around him.

Suddenly the door to the control room opened and the room entered an instant moment of speechlessness.

Davis was almost afraid to take a peek at their new arrival, knowing already that it was one of the three members, or the former member, of SG-1, that had been the topic of frivolous discussion for more than half the morning.

The silence was tense…

One set of footsteps…

A shuffle of papers…

A small greeting…

"Uh…g-g-good morning, Colonel"

"Morning, Siler"

Nice going, Siler.

The smartest woman in the known galaxy walks into a deathly quiet room surrounded by extremely tense people, and you don't think she's suspicious enough without a man she's known for the better part of eight years suddenly stuttering nervous greetings to her?

The footsteps begin again.

She's at the door.

She stops.

"And just to give you guys a heads up…" Carter began to say.

Uh-oh.

Reprimand.

Court Marshal.

I'm sure there's an express rule in on of those military manuals that forbids speaking ill of a superior officer…

"Doctor Jackson has started a betting pool. Not sure what it's for, something that the General said this morning?"

Sixteen pairs of shocked eyes turned to her.

What an innocent face she had.

Oh she was good.

Right down to her fake confusion.

"Anyway, he'll be in his office all day for whoever wants in on it"

The door did not even have a chance to close fully behind her.They were out of there faster thanthey would have been if a bunch of Goa'uld had beamed down and decided to shoot up the control room.

One destination was on our minds.

Daniel Jackson's office.


	4. Daniel's morning after five minutes ago

(A/N: Oh, well. That was a much welcomed and lovely response.

Cherryblossomjen: Yes I did see those pics for Threads. I went Postal I swear. My neighbors are _this _close to getting me committed because I keep raving about Sam getting engaged and Jack hooking up with Kerry and how it would be nice to have a Goa'uld attack earth for the sole reason of taking out Kerry Johnson and Pete Shanahan.

Sadly, we can only hope. As I'm sure many a reluctant disclaimer has stated in the past.

Stargate-1fan: Okay, well I suppose I wouldn't want the headliners to be "death by fanfic withdrawal" so here's another chap.

And thanks, all you who reviewed. I really was not expecting such a good response.)

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Doctor Daniel Jackson had been the last one out of Jack's office that morning once the team meeting had come to a close, and he gazed lengthily at his friend with the air of someone who was actually a bit glad there was not much work he had to do today.

His expression was tentative, as were his thoughts. He lounged back in his chair with the relaxed demeanor of someone who intended to stay in his current posture for an overt amount of time.

Daniel watched his best friend play the flawless Air force General; stacking papers, reading memos, pretending that his pending inquisitor was not seated directly across from him calculating his every move while having donned the expression of derisive questioning.

It was all a matter of will. How much better could he be at this brief game of avoidance than his sarcastically armed and often gladly confused friend?

"Is there something you wanted, Daniel?" his tone was easy, but emphasized in all the wrong places that were typical of Jack's underlying wit. If you felt utterly compelled to call it that.

Daniel allotted himself a moment of triumph, though. He had won after all.

"Oh…uh, nothing…Jack…" he was purposefully braking up his speech, a habit he usually reserved for when he was in deep thought, and a man like Jack did not regularly warrant this kind of contemplation.

"Just…um…just wondering if you happen to…" he shifted in his seat and inwardly congratulated himself on the annoyed look his hesitant nature was receiving, "um, happen to have noticed which, um, which completely absurd suicidal alien entity has…I don't know…take possession of your conscious and _arguably _sane brain functions?"

The archeologist frowned at his own words before Jack had a chance to reply: _arguably _sane? Well, more like teetering on the edge of fanatical psychosis, but that was a quip for another time. Perhaps at the next fishing invitation…

"_Daniel…"_ was the first response.

Yes, that alarmingly drawn out warning that tended to hinge on his name. It meant, 'Danger-Space Monkey-you-might-wake-up-missing-a-few-limbs'. But after several years, Jack should know by now that this approach only encouraged him, and he was a skilled linguist that had merit to translate the tone as he saw fit. At the moment it was a blatant invitation.

"Jack?" speaking of double meaning tones…

The old man sighed and slowly leaned back in his chair.

Wait for it…

The hands went to the face…

Getting closer…

The hands brushed their way through the hair.

Ah-ha! The exhausted sign of surrender!

"Boy, I did it this time, didn't I?" Jack asked dispiritedly, glancing at his ever meaningless and ever infinite pile of paperwork.

Well…" Daniel began, "if by, "did it", you mean put Sam's job on the line, drove away a promising girlfriend—who, by the way, had been our last hopeful means of escaping an invite to spend downtime with you--, gave every member on the base something to gossip about for the next…oh…year maybe…and released an opportunity for me to make money off of your lapse in judgment? Then…yea…I say you've pretty much, "did it" this time"

Jack looked weary. Until Daniel's last sentence caught up to his guilt trip, "Make money off me?" he asked with a genuine interested, previous mistake obviously forgotten.

Well, if the man was going to rack up the nerve to bounce back that fast then he certainly did not deserve Daniel's present company. Where was the amusement in a passive Jack O'Neill?

"Yea…um…about that, I should probably start the betting before Teal'c beats me to it"

He was out of Jack's office before you could say, "dismemberment". A word that would certainly pop up some time in Daniel's near future…

Once in his office he began to make the necessary preparations, retrieving from under a hidden compartment in his desk a ledger that recorded all the events of illegal betting that would be severely frowned upon in such an upstanding military base as the SGC.

And in all factuality, it was frowned upon.

Frowned upon by the President when he lost to Hammond, frowned upon by Hammond when he lost to O'Neill, frowned upon by O'Neill when he lost to Carter…Yes, the proper authorities were frowning properly.

Daniel flipped to a blank page and began…

The wager was this: gamblers had to predict if Carter and/or O'Neill were going to address the event that occurred earlier. Then they had to predict when it would happen, how it would happen, and who would witness it.

Of course this meant that Daniel had to elect his own personal spy to tag both Carter and O'Neill the entire day (week, month.) and report to him when this encounter occurred and all the details so he could determine who had won.

Now, from a realistic view, what Jack had said was not so bad. It could have, for all intents and purposes, been and expression of simply needing his subordinate officer to fulfill a legitimate duty for him.

But the General's glaring out burst accompanied by past behavior and gossip starved base personnel, would soon turn into an unrecognizably extravagant romance novel by the time it had a chance to fully circulate around the mountain.

And that's what Daniel always counted on.

Not that he mad a _habit _of taking advantage of his close friends' apparent unrequited attraction for each other…not in the least, he was far too compassionate…and that, folks, is the lie that has kept his side line business of bookie extended for so long.

Doctor Jackson was suddenly unappreciatively interrupted in his thoughts by a brilliant Colonel, who had a dangerous mix of psychological as well as scientific intelligence, and she was rough around just the right edges to find pleasure in partaking with base bets now and then.

Which meant she had intimate knowledge of his operation and how it worked.

Daniel wondered what exactly had jinxed him this time. Perhaps it was the earlier mention of dismemberment…

"I know what you're doing, Daniel, and you can forget it" Sam said, leaning against his doorframe, looking nonchalant as ever.

"Sam…I, uh…didn't see you there…"

Hide the book.

At least make an effort to hide the book.

"Was there, um…" he cleared his throat innocently, "Was there something you wanted?"

She gave him the eyes of experience, and he knew there was no point in attempting the lame.

"No matter how much money everyone is going to put into this, there is nothing, _nothing, _that is going to happen between me and the General. I'm engaged for crying out loud-"

She stopped mid rant. Cut off by the sardonically inquisitive look he was giving her and the realization of her own words.

She grumbled a few curses under her breath and continued, "What? It's just an expression…I mean…ah, bad example…I mean…ah, damn it"

Daniel was verging on disbelief in his own hearing. Never once had he heard Sam sound so much like the…former Colonel O'Neill. This wasn't just amusing anymore. It was downright hilarious!


	5. Paul Daviss morning after five minutes a...

(A/N: Okay, in my opinion this chapter isn't very funny…like I said, I wasn't sure where to go with this story, but you all seem to be enjoying it so far so I hope this is as good as my previous attempts)

Thank you so much for all the reviews. Very nice, I'm pleased with the response immensely, you've all helped put Selmac in a very good mood. Hopefully she'll work for me now.

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It had been a while since Major Paul Davis had walked the familiar halls of the SGC under some pretense of business or another, and he had to say he'd missed the place. His entire life revolved around it, as did the lives of nearly two hundred other people, weather they were Military or civilian.

It had taken him a few visits, but a content fondness for the base and the people who worked there had rapidly developed within him, even after he had made up his mind so many years ago that it was more or less a waist of his time to constantly pour for hours on end over every bit of information that the Stargate program provided.

General Hammond had, in his own unique way, convinced him otherwise after his first two or three visits to the underground of the Cheyenne Mountain. And Paul never failed to secretly thank the man in his ponderings on every return trip.

It was the environment, also. There was something in the air. Something in the behavior of the personnel you were overcome with upon entering the lower and more secured levels…something.

You couldn't realize it unless you were involved in some way, and that was the best part of his job. He got to observe and interact with every part of this grand facility each time he was there.

Eight years. Paul was nearly bewildered with the thought. Officially, the program had initiated ten years prior to that very morning, at least according to the Pentagon. But to him it had started with the establishment of SG units and research projects, with all the factors that went in to the exploration of other planets and the trauma and celebration that permeated each successful and unsuccessful mission.

Paul smiled at his almost uncharacteristically emotional thoughts. Sometimes the enormity of the program overwhelmed him. He tried to compose himself a bit as he paused along the route to his primary destination to take in all the changes and constants that he had missed with his lengthy absence.

He stopped in the doorway of one of the many research labs and watched the scant group of people working fluidly inside, indeed a lulling process, but somehow comforting.

"Major Davis" a bemused but friendly sounding Lieutenant greeted him from where she sat at one of the stations placed against a corner of the bustling room, "We haven't seen you around in a while"

It was a loaded statement, more of a question really.

The rumor mill must be in swing. Otherwise his presence here would have gone pretty much unrifled with curiosity from the intent scientists and officers who were now trying to seem as if they all weren't leaning in just a little more, distracted from there work to here his reply.

He decided not to play their game of subtleness, seeing as how he wanted to check in on a few more places before heading to General O'Neill's office.

_General O'Neill…_how…disturbing. As soon as he'd heard the news (from General Hammond no less) his first response had been to laugh. Just the thought was incredulous. But his humor soon turned to fear once Hammond had explained that Jack O'Neill truthfully was going to be in charge of the place.

The President had to be having medical problems…O'Neill would settle for nothing else than to be in charge of a psychiatric institution. By the time he was through with command, it'd most likely be legal for CO's to use the Stargate as a fishing hole when they couldn't get downtime.

He could already see it: an overworked O'Neill lounging in a beach chair on the ramp of on activated Stargate, tossing a fishing line through and asking Colonel Carter what bait was good for catching a Tokra…

But Paul was supposed to be thinking about something else at the moment, "Okay, Captain, recite the latest gossip column for me"

She didn't even have the grace to pretend not to know what he was talking about before instantly diving in to the impossibly over exaggerated brew of a story that had no doubt been boiling to the point of burnt by the time of his arrival.

"Well, Sir, it turns out Colonel Carter is in love with Doctor Jackson who was threatened this morning by General O'Neill to keep his distance while Teal'c used his staff weapon to kill Pete Shanahan because he was tired of listening to the General complain about him, only to find out that Doctor Jackson really loves Kerry Johnson who despises Colonel Carter for distracting General O'Neill." She took a breath but wasn't finished, "When actually, it's Doctor Jackson who loves Colonel Carter, and Teal'c who has feelings for Ishta but believes he is obligated to be a father figure for the Colonel and General O'Neill mistook those obligated feelings and has decided to plot with Doctor Jackson against Teal'c"

He was not spared a moment to digest this information before another scientist in the room piped up indignantly.

"That's not true, it's Doctor Jackson who loves Ishta and General O'Neill who feels like the father figure"

"You're entirely wrong, Ishta is not even part of the equation, it's Jacob Carter who Kerry Johnson has a thing for and that's why she's upset with the Colonel…"

"Jacob Carter? No, it's Teal'c and that Tokra, Anise…"

Paul wisely backed away from the barrage of now arguing scientists.

So, it was back to the O'Neill/Carter thing again…well wasn't this going to be an enjoyment?

Paul had learned long ago that you do not report everything you know that is going on at the SGC to your superiors. Not if you wanted to collect good on the betting pool.

General Hammond would hear about this, though. And the two of them would sit in his office pretending to be upset for the extent of a minute before excusing themselves from work to do some special ops around the base and get in on the latest bet.

Even the president was so inclined to ask Hammond to have him place some money on the SGC's wagers now and then.

And that, Paul theorized, was probably the sole reason the President had for putting O'Neill in charge…

As Paul continued towards his goal, he found his way blocked by a hoard of personnel all crowded outside of Daniel Jackson's office and creating amicable discussions in every direction making it wishful thinking to be able to hear yourself in your own mind.

Looks like Teal'c got beat to the punch this round…

Using his rank on this rare occasion where he could get away with it, Paul worked to the front of the large gathering, grateful that there didn't seem to be any Colonel's around. Particularly grateful that there wasn't a _certain _Colonel around…

"Major…umm…Major Davis, so glad you're, uh, you're here" Daniel muttered in that distracted, intense way of his as he divided his attention amongst everyone who was crammed in front of his desk offering their cash.

"What's the wager?" Davis asked, slightly guilty with how easy that phrase came to him…it was Hammond's fault that he had gotten into this habit…or so he told the Joint Chiefs who also occasionally enlisted his services to place bets during the rare years when they also found out about the hubbub in the Mountain.

"That, um, that depends…" Daniel began, writing fiercely in the ledger that was splayed before him, "What have you heard?"

Davis had to rack his brain for a moment. He was still a bit rusty, not having used the gossip code in a while, and trying to distinguish in his head what the Captain had babbled to him.

"Ummm…something about the General yelling something inappropriate at Carter?" he hoped that was the correct translation.

The Doctor spared him a look for the briefest second, "Okay, then the wager is: when, how, and will both or one of them do something about it in the near future…and who will be around to witness it, if anyone"

Oh, there'd be witnesses around…

Whatever sneak Daniel hired for one.

And…

"Put me down for tomorrow morning, 1200 hours, a discreet chat in the commissary followed by a talk at his place after shift…and Major Paul Davis will be witness along with whoever you've got working for you" Paul decided.

He had Daniel's full attention now, "Well, since you already planned on…doing it yourself, why not, uh, why not make a little extra money and…and be my spy?"

Davis only grinned in response.


	6. Jack's day five minutes into the afterno...

(A/N: I like this as an ending, but it's not official. If you all want more I might be able to crank out another chapter)

Thanks for all the reviews.

------------------------

Jack O'Neill was hiding in the elevator armed with the charged weapon of a spoon and a container of ice cream. Any technician who dared to override the emergency stop would wind up with a uniform smeared with chocolate moose flavoring.

The General was stuck between levels after having spent an excruciating lunch hour roaming the base trying to find one crevice in the entire mountain that did not resonate with rumors about him and his 2IC coming from the lips of unfortunate personnel who soon found themselves being handed a reprimand on behalf of his amusement.

He'd finally made a mad dash for the open doors of the elevator after hearing something about Carter's kissing talents and after selecting his level had punched his fist against that conveniently colored red button.

But some misshapen Ancient must have decided that they would take a break that day and hand the charge of Fate over to Anubis who was now hell bent on destroying his life by means worse than death, because Jack suddenly recognized that he wasn't in this contraption alone.

"Good Afternoon, Sir"

The voice was so indifferent and formal.

So deceptive that it could only belong to one woman…

"Carter" O'Neill acknowledged casually while dipping his spoon into the mixture of melting desert he was holding, hoping for once that the chocolate treat he was gulping down had some form of alien bacteria that made you hallucinate.

Sadly, things were never complicated when he needed them to be; but only when Earth was at risk, their allies were getting antsy, and cleverly displaced Goa'uld captured his flagship team. Those were the times when Murphy's Law really took a swing at them.

Never when his mouth acted quicker than his mind, the SGC was under siege of the Gossip virus, and he was stuck in an enclosed space with a woman he wasn't supposed to love. It'd be too much of a blessing to have his ice cream overtaken by alien influence.

"Hiding, Sir?" Sam continued as she leaned against the corner opposite him without seeming the least bit perturbed.

Damn, he'd taught her he art of relaxed cover up much too well.

"No. Not hiding. Strategically retreating from battle is more like it…" he responded with just as much ease, copying her stance and looking at her across the cramped area.

"Well, you shouldn't be hanging around me then, I seem to be attracting a lot of enemy fire as of late" she smiled a bit but her demeanor told him that she was frustrated, probably because she hadn't been able to find a decently calm lab since that morning in which to play with her doohickeys.

"Haven't gotten to fiddle with any of your science things, Carter?" he knew these kinds of conversations by heart. Every member SG-1 had them memorized. It was the speech they used to anchor themselves to the idea that they were half-normal and it was the rest of the galaxy that was screwed up.

"I was looking forward to analyzing the lithium properties of that artifact Daniel and

SG-2 brought back from PXY-806, but every lab on the base is in enemy territory" she replied, "I would've had my research with me if I'd thought of the elevator thing first, Sir. Good idea, by the way."

He was drawing odd patterns in his food with he tip of the spoon with the same type of avoidance that their talk was fringed with, "Yea, I've had some practice in the evasion of combat"

There was a proceeding lull after that and Sam sighed while slumping down the wall into a sitting position.

O'Neill mimicked her motion.

Silence…

"So," Carter mumbled.

"So…" he replied affirmatively.

They each scooted closer to one another till they were facing the familiar metallic doors and sitting side by side with their backs to the same wall. Jack offered her the spoon and she began to help eat his extravagantly large tub of ice cream, rotating the utensil between them with each bite.

"Did you know that Major Paul Davis is stalking us?" she commented without a hint of inquiry in her voice.

"What, following someone around while wearing camouflage and holding binoculars trying to look inconspicuous is considered stalking now?" he quipped.

Sam giggled.

Okay, so maybe Anubis knew what he was doing with fate…

"So, what's the wager on this one?" he decided the banter had lightened them enough to derive some humor from the situation.

Sam went along and gave him a mockingly thoughtful expression as she dug out another spoon full of delectable fudge and passed it to him.

"We're supposed to make a huge public display about what you said this morning, then were going to break off our respective relationships with our significant others, then somewhere between your retirement and the wedding we end up in the locker room and reenact the time I was exposed to the Broca disease" she hugged her knees with one arm nervously, wanting to decipher his response to this.

He handed her the spoon already loaded with the content of the container he held and grinned with unsubstantiated suggestiveness, "Sounds like a plan…" he hinted.

She smirked, "So does court marshal," she stated, licking the spoon clean.

At the mention of court marshal, Jack suddenly realized that watching Carter eat chocolate was potentially hazardous to his career…

"How're things with…_Pete, _going?" he tried not to sound like saying the name of her fiancé was equivalent to being used as an incubator for the Goa'uld.

Sam frowned and he could tell she didn't want to answer.

Maybe the man had died…

Joy.

"We're good…" she trailed off at the look he was giving her and she glanced away.

"He, uh…he bought us a house" she rested her chin on the top of her knees with a defeated manner and waited for the imminent feedback.

"That's nice…" Uh-huh.

"Yes. It's lovely. White picket fence and all…_four _bedrooms…an empty room for a nursery…" she was distraught to the fullest extent of the word.

"When do you move in?" isn't it Daniel's job to do the psychiatrist friend routine?

"I…don't"

What?

"I'm not…happy with Pete"

_What!_

"The house wasn't right, it wasn't…home"

W-H-A-T-?!

"So I broke it off…"


	7. Sam's morning the morning after

A/N: Okay, I know I took long enough, but if I was going to give you guys a real ending I wanted to have a good idea for it. So again, thanks a bunch for all the reviews and here it is…

* * *

The General's new favorite saying was: "I'm only going to say this once, Carter…"

Sam did not have enough space on her hard drive to calculate how many times that phrase had begun almost every conversation they've had since the day after their promotions.

"I'm only going to say this once, Carter, at ease"

Or,

"I'm only going to say this once, Carter, fishing beats doohickeys hands down"

Just as the rumors over this past event had started to simmer and Paul Davis had gone back to the Pentagon, O'Neill had to go and break up with Kerry. And of course, around the same time, news of her failed engagement began to spread.

The stories were flaring once again and she hardly got a half-day's work done before she heard another distorted version of her and the General's respective relationship.

Yesterday morning, having taken less than a sip of coffee and not even updated on the day's agenda by her crowd of annoying, buzzard comparable, scientists and officers, she had stumbled upon Daniel collecting money from Teal'c after a recent bet that had occurred over something that apparently the General and her had done about their social attachments.

She had retaliated by recommending SG-1 for a standard recon mission coming up to a planet that was said to be host to the most unpredictable and extremely frequent hailstorms that any of their planetary weather experts had ever seen. Daniel had gone from confidant bookie to whining puppy in less time than it took her motorcycle to get from zero to sixty.

After that Jack and her had begun avoiding each other like green jello, trying to stifle the response this one disastrous incident had caused.

But something occurred that morning that Sam expected less than she expected to walk into the gate room and discover the late Hathor bathing in a pool of symbiotes and eating pints of Ben and Jerry's.

"Carter…" the sentence began as the Colonel entered her lab and her eyes fell upon her CO wearing civies and tossing a tennis ball up in the air, "I'm only going to say this once…"

Sam panicked…

She bit her lip…

She rocked on her heals…

She exhibited all her usual signs of nervousness that she wasn't aware were classified as a few of the one billion and one utterly adorable traits of Samantha Carter according to the mind of Jack O'Neil.

"I'm retiring from the Air Force, they're giving me civilian command of the SGC, and as my last official act as your CO I'm ordering to come fishing with me"

Sam decided this was one of those infamous SG-1 alternate reality incidents and someone had thought it'd be funny to place a quantum mirror in front of where her lab door used to be.

"If you'll excuse, Sir, I think it's about time I do some catching up with Dr. Mackenzie" she was convinced that before this conversation was over she would probably be needing some of those anti-insanity pills he was so fond of giving out.

"I'm not joking Carter. And did I mention I love you…Oh, and be prepared for a proposal sometime this spring, I wanted to do it now but Teal'c said it'd be more romantic if there were flowers and fresh air and all that lovey-dovey…stuff"

He seemed anxious. His face was scrunched up and his gaze was questioning. He looked so cute that Sam couldn't control her next impulse.

She crossed the room.

Grabbed his collar.

And kissed him with more intensity than it had taken to blow up a sun.

It was Jack's turn to be put out.

"I…uh…that was…"

He didn't even try for more than a few seconds to put together a verbal response before he was kissing her back, it seeming to be the only action he could properly execute at this point.

Sam broke off first only to say, "I love you too, and be prepared for a yes when you propose"

Daniel Jackson's voice suddenly broke in. He was leaning against the doorway with Teal'c.

"Hmm, I love _summer_ weddings…" the Archeologist said with a wide grin on his face.

"Indeed" Teal'c added, "And there is much to be said about autumn ceremonies as well"

"Well we obviously aren't going to leave our wedding planning in your exceedingly incapable hands. We'd end up with sacrificial piñatas and a guest list that extended to every culture we've encountered since the first mission to Abydos" Jack grumbled.

Daniel just grinned conspiratorially and winked at Sam, "He's going to make you get rid of the plants you know," he told her.

* * *

(A/N: In the background on our own little home worlds we all erupted in applause and cheering before returning to our respective occupations as rebel Jaffa, mumbling geniuses, gorgeous anthropologists and sarcastic Air force officers) 


End file.
